Elizhearth
by uglystepsister
Summary: She was born a princess; she was raised a slave. She will be queen. -Cinderella adaptation. very descriptive.
1. One  The Princess

Chapter 1

**Loosely based off of Grimm brothers ****Cinderella****. This may be very long and take some time to complete, so enjoy. **

The king brushed his coarse fingertips across his wife's glistening face, removing a lock of brown curl from her brow. She smiled up at him with eyes the color of chocolate, bright underneath the buckets of sweat that shimmered on her translucent skin. His wife had always been a tragic beauty, but now… Now she was positively radiant.

She brought the newborn up to her lips and bestowed a gentle kiss on her daughter's forehead. "I have thought of a name." Her voice was like the coo of a dove. Her husband tilted his strong jaw, gristly with stubble, urging her to continue. "Sycill. Sycill Candor." She laughed, the tinkling of a bell. "Sycill Candor. Don't you like it?"

"Sycill Francis Candor." The king nodded, a grin on his young face. "Sounds a fine name."

Francis looked up at him in wonder. A child, a future monarch bearing her name seemed an impossibility to the woman who only two years prior had been a lowly chamber maid, whisked away to a life of indulgence and politics on the wings of love. Most queens were traded between kingdoms, trained from birth in the ways of courtly etiquette, but Elizhearth appeared to be the land dreams were made of.

"Sycill Francis Candor," Francis whispered, gazing into her daughter's eyes, green as croquet field grass.


	2. Two The Queen

**I was inspired to finish up this chapter by one more person subscribing, so please if you're interested let me know in that way. Thanks to any readers. **

Francis Candor hurried through the castle, the mahogany hem of her skirt whisking about her with every turn. The simple elegance of the wooden hallway clashed drastically with the anxiety she felt in her heart. "Have you seen Sycill?" She asked a nearby hand maiden who shook her head politely.

The queen caught her husband's shoulder as he rushed by. "Have you seen our daughter?"

His eyes widened. "Darling, the guests are already arriving! She is missing to her own…" He trailed off too overwrought to continue.

Francis shushed him, regretting worrying him. "Go into the party, mingle, start it off. She'll make an entrance. I'll find her." He nodded briefly and briskly walked toward the banquet hall. "I'll find her." Francis whispered to convince herself she would.

After some additional searching, Francis went out to the stable. Sycill always favored horses and Francis prayed she would either find her daughter or some comfort from the gentle creatures' presences. She stepped in the darkened stable, peering along the sliver of light emitted from the setting sun. Her ears perked at the sound of sobbing from a young mare's pen.

Sycill was laying in the corner of the stall, knees pressed against her tear streaked face. The despair aged the features of the seven year old. Her weeping was hysterical; she hiccupped upon seeing her mother. Francis spared not a second before moving into the pen and sitting in the dirt, the concern for her new dress outweighed by the concern for her daughter. She pulled Sycill to her and stroked her long honey colored curls.

Finally her tears abated and she stared up at her mother. "She's wicked." She stated suddenly; her tiny voice cracked and the sobs returned.

Francis rocked her daughter. "Who is?"

Sycill wiped her eyes with the back of her dirty hand. "The Countess. She is so mean. Mama, she called me ugly."

Francis sighed. She had tried to raise her daughter to be above such superficiality. She stood, bringing Sycill with her. Her fingers wiped away Sycill's tears. "Come with me, love."

She whisked her daughter up to her room. Reaching under the luxurious four poster bed, she retrieved a small box and placed it on the bed next to Sycill. "Darling, you need to understand something. People in the world," She drew her daughter close. Her daughter, a princess, would always be criticized, always judged. How could she possibly take everything she had learned everything she knew and bequeath that wisdom to a seven year old? How could she make her understand? "Sycill, you are beautiful." She ran a finger along Sycill's chin and repeated it. "You are beautiful, but…that is not what is important. You have something…" She breathed. "You have a beauty on the inside; it isn't seen with gold and jewels, your eyes or hair. It is a beauty of…your soul." It was impossible. "Do you understand?"

Sycill wiped a tear and nodded queerly, thinking whatever this was, her mother was far more gifted in it than she.

Francis smiled, pulling the box onto her lap. "Sycill, I want you to have this. Traditionally, you aren't to have a tiara until you turn ten, but _I_ don't always follow the traditions." She smirked reliving her past, the wedding where she had worn the crown.

It was flawless with tiny leaflets of gold and pearls twisting around in a natural configuration. Sycill fingered it, eyes wide. "Mama, it's too big for me," Sycill murmured as she placed the tiara on her head; it could have circled twice round her head.

Francis carefully placed the crown in the box, and gave it to Sycill. "Keep it safe somewhere. One day you will wear it. Now, we should enter into _your_ birthday party, should we not?"

Sycill jumped off the bed to stand at her mother's side and looked up at the perfect countenance and the 'beauty on the inside' as well. Francis led the kingdom the way she raised her daughter, with a loving and kind wisdom that guided the people of Elizhearth through every political affliction.

This is why it was so hard when she died. Every person in the kingdom mourned the young queen's departure, but no one seemed to grieve like the little girl.


	3. Three The Knight

**Five Years Later**

"Now boys," Sir Landon, a large knight with a barrel shaped chest addressed the line of knights-in-training ahead of him. "For many of you…_Griffin shoulders straight!_...this will be your first royal assignment. As many of you are my wards," He eyed Evan Dahkt, a lanky fourteen year old who was just beginning to become accustomed to his new found height, who grinned and lifted his chin boldly at Sir Landon who smiled back. Evan was his best swordsman and his personal favorite much as he tried to avoid attachment. "Your actions," He addressed the whole line, "reflect heavily on myself. Make me proud." He nodded and departed the building to which the line of boys dispersed and began chattering about their first real assignment.

"Howzit Dahkt?" Todd Griffin said clapping his hand on Evan's back. Griffin had been a dopey peasant boy before his father essentially sold him to the royal army. Now he was a dopey knight-to-be."Nervous 'bout tonight?"

"'Course not." Evan said ever courageous, a cover for the anxiety he felt at being addressed in front of the room of post-pubescent teenaged knights. He was the youngest in the room, passed through several long term trainings because of his natural ability. He fingered the hilt of his sword; it always gave him confidence, "We'll be little more than security guards." A few more eyes fixed themselves on him. "What are we doing anyway? Watching a door? Really, it's just a wedding." He scoffed. More eyes. "Personally, I can't wait for a little more action. I want to charge into battle!" to which he received a few _Yea's!_ "I want to fight! If we're lucky, we'll run into a bear! Or an ogre will show to the wedding feast!" More acts of verbal approval. "We're knights dammit!" The room hushed; Evan wondered what he'd done wrong. He turned adjacent with the looks of horror that had passed over his shoulder.

Sir Landon stood over him his barrel chest puffed under his look of disapproval. "Soldiers, Mister Dahkt, not sailors."

Evan just regarded him. No amount of sword touching would bring him confidence against the great knight. His mouth lolled open for lack of words that left it.

"You _boys_," Landon stretched the word, emphasizing its meaning, "Are not knights. Not yet. But Mister Dahkt has assured that all of your uniforms will be cleaned so you all may at least look like it."

Todd snorted a suppressed laugh. "And Mr. Griffin, will assure that all your shoes are perfectly shined." Landon concluded.

The two boys glared at one another, each blaming the other for his punishment.


	4. Four The Trio

**Hey sorry I haven't updated in a while. I'll try to keep up. I know you haven't seen much characterization yet, but hopefully it will become more clear as the story progresses. Thanks to anyone who is still reading. Please review. **

Evan stood by the kitchen door nodding off. He understood the importance of protecting the royal family at a wedding, but the possibility of a depraved mouse getting in through the kitchen door and spoiling the event, especially endangering anyone, seemed far from feasible. A yawn escaped just before he spotted a rotted board that, moments before had sealed smokehouses, slide open wide.

Through it came three princesses, two from neighboring kingdoms and the precocious little Princess Sycill, wearing the sea green colors of her father's second wedding. Sycill strode across the yard tailed by the others, one with messy red hair barely recognizable as a princess in stable shoes and riding pants, the other an elfish thing with hair the shade of a raven's wing.

Evan glanced around him. The other nearest knights were around corners and vast distances from his lowly post. He sighed weighing his situation, follow the girls and leave his position or keep his station and be held responsible should the princesses find trouble. He chose the former and took off keeping behind trees unspotted by the girls.

"I haven't got an idea of why your father should choose to marry again," The raven haired elf spoke with eloquence. She was several years ahead of the other two.

"Sophrie, he is making the biggest…" Sycill sighed and her eyes glistened with tears she would not release. "The _advisors_ think it wise to rule a kingdom with a queen." Sycill finished with disdain. "La Countess Cremence was originally intended to wed my father before he fell in love with my mother. Now they are both widowers; the advisors called it fate." The princess spat into the grass.

"You have sisters now. Yes?" The younger princess, Cail, asked.

Sycill shot Cail a look. Her sisters.

Sophrie found the hint in Sycill's eyes and briskly and smoothly transitioned the conversation. "Can you believe I'll enjoy my own ceremony in a year's time?" It was well understood between the threesome and any effective citizen of the kingdoms that royal weddings occur in the heir's sixteenth year.

Sycill took her friend's hands in her own. "I am so excited for you. You are happy with him I trust?"

Sophrie shot Sycill a knowing glance accompanied with a smirk. "Very."

A small snapping sound reached the princess's ears. "Did you all hear something?" Evan cursed his boot heel that had set on a twig and triggered the noise. Sycill stood tall as her twelve year old body allowed and looked round her. "Who is there?"

Evan stepped from behind his hiding spot, holding his hands free for the princesses to see. "Knight in training, step six, rank three, troupe nineteen," He identified himself. "I'm sorry. I only hoped to protect you should something arise."

Sycill smiled, quite accustomed to knights around the castle. She stepped towards him knowing he would immediately snap to attention at being addressed by a royal. He did. Her smile brightened. "What is your name?" She asked, satisfied with the apparent power she wielded.

"Evan Dahkt." He answered keeping his voice and face emotionless as possible. It was a knight's place to be strong, hard; he knew that.

Her eyes glazed as Sycill tried to remember any connection she possessed to the name. "…of Landon's troupe?"

He nodded visibly surprised she was conversant enough to know such information. Most princesses would not.

She tilted her head, seeing if she could get a reaction from this handsome young knight. "Sir Landon has talked of you. He says you are the best knight he has ever trained…" Her eyes flickered across his face, reading it as she paused. "Landon has trained many, many of knights."

"Then I am honored to be given such recognition." Evan said evenly. "How does a princess such as you have such information?"

Sycill grinned. "Landon is a dear friend. I often mingle with the knights. It helps me to understand what is going on in the kingdom. What is an ineffective princess that stays in the castle all day? …not effective at all."

He smiled at her redundancy and her confidence.

At that moment, Sir Landon rushed towards them with what appeared to be a small search party of knights. "Dahkt! What the…" He shouted.

"Sir Landon," Sycill interrupted, turning on as much charm as she could muster. She offered the old knight her hand, which he kissed briskly. His beard tickled the soft skin. "I do hope we haven't caused much trouble. I asked your young knight to accompany us on a walk. I was quite impatient and he was unable to inform his superiors. I am terribly sorry." She looked quite absurd standing with subtle command over the huge man.

Landon nodded. "Yes, well," He huffed. "I trust you will inform others next time?"

Sycill blinked which sent her eyelashes fluttering. "Of course sir."

"We will escort you three back to the wedding?" Landon said.

"I would very much appreciate that." Sycill said as she grabbed the hands of her two friends who seemed very much scared out of their wits from the strange interactions that had just taken place. Even Sophrie, who was just a year's time from becoming a queen, was not so comfortable addressing men.

Cail looked at Sycill with admiration in her eyes. "That was brilliant."

As the assembly headed towards the castle, Evan whispered over Sycill's shoulder, "Thank you Princess."

She turned quickly and gave him a mischievous grin. "Very much my pleasure Mr. Dahkt." 

**So there you have it, I'm tired of sweet selfless princesses or tomboyish princesses that would never exist. My princess is a self satisfied and loves her power, that's just how it is. She's a princess. **


	5. Five The Countess

**Sorry about the wait. I'm almost done with the next chapter, so it should be up soon. Perhaps not this week with all my preparation for the Harry Potter premiere on Wednesday. I haven't updated in a while, so you may want to go back and refresh yourself on the characters. The following is a scene where you will meet Sycill's stepmother; I feel like it gives the wickedness a human side. Thanks for your patience!**

The Countess pulled a pin from her hair. It tumbled free like a fiery curtain; it's free fluidity contrasted drastically with the sharp angles of her face. She watched the strands fall and form a frame around her piercing blue eyes, making them look vacant and grim. She traced every line of her face with those crystalline eyes. As she stared, another visage formed in the mirror. It was a face that had haunted her for nearly twenty years. Over time, the image had grown hazy, but it had been cemented, the lines made more distinct as though she could reach out and touch the woman in the mirror. The one that was not her own reflection. Francis.

In that face, she saw everything she did not have. Soft brown curls covered over her own copper sheet. Large brown eyes that looked more at home on a doe. Soft round cheeks, a kind smile edged by sensuous pink lips. And youth. Clarissa Cremence traced the lines of her face with a slender fingertip.

In six months she had not consummated her marriage with the King. She did not feel like the queen she had become. It was because of that haunting face in the mirror and its daughter. The little princess mirrored her mother with little more than her father's eyes. Every curvature of Sycill's countenance sent Clarissa back in time. Sycill's face was the little slut who had stolen her fiancé. That face shattered every dream and any moment of bliss the woman may have enjoyed as the new queen.

Over her own shoulder in the mirror she watched King Bryan appear from behind the curtain in his nightclothes. He sat on the edge of the bed removing his riding boots.

Clarissa willed the demon in the mirror away. Watching her nostrils flare with nervous breath, she gathered any audacity she possessed. She walked to the king exuding the confidence that lay flat over a mass of tension. Bryan glanced up at his wife unaccustomed to her behavior. For six months they had fallen into the same bed without a word or touch.

She kneeled in front of him gracefully extending her hand. He kissed only to follow courtesy, but released her hand. She dropped it onto his lap and began, "My lord for months we lay so far from one another. I have not pleased my lord, and I only wish to fulfill my wifely duties." She did not look at his face, but focused on her own hand, "My liege, if you will only engage…"

Bryan placed his hand on hers to silence her. "It is unnecessary. I am old; you are old. As my wife in the eyes of the law, you have performed your _duties_." He said the word scathingly.

She set her jaw. Her confidence was melted but she continued, "My lord, please. We are not old. I can still satisfy my lord. I can still…"

"Leave me," his voice held the command of a royal decree even as he whispered the words. They were cold and harsh.

Cremence shrunk at his words. "But my lord…please, I beg of you…" she choked on tears that hadn't reached her eyes yet. She clasped his hands in hers and bowed her head in his lap.

"Get out!" He ripped his hands from hers and spoke as though he were reprimanding a dog.

"No!" She shrieked through the tears that just began to streak her face, as he tried to stand. She wrung her hands in the material that hung around his ankles and clung to him. "My lord, I love you." She erupted into a fit of coughs.

The king looked down at the broken woman before him and placed his hand on her hair.

She felt his strong hand, thick and heavy on her crown. She wanted those hands encircling her, embracing and caressing her, not pitying her, not like this. She had wanted him so long ago for so many years. All she had the power to do was cry, and she did as he could only watch.


	6. Six The Fish

Now for a brief tale…

Forenze, a small division of Elizhearth, was ruled by the family who shared its name. The royal duchess of Forenze, a distant cousin of King Bryan Candor, was the most powerful woman of that land. She had many children, all young, strapping heirs. Her final child, a beautiful baby girl, she named Lizabeth after the kingdom that had provided prosperity for her and all of its citizens.

The duchess's daughter married a thin, squirrelly man, Percival Knox. Rumors flew that the man had bewitched the little duchess with a love potion because no one could understand how the fair, pure maiden had fallen in with such a man. And she had been so taken by a young Elizhearthean knight, Landon, for months before her wedding.

Rumors continued to plague Lizabeth even after her death. The little son whose violent birth had summoned her death had the red hair of the knight and the kind features of his mother. Knox's influence was not found on the young boy's face.

The duchess took pity on her son-in-law and his little boy. She pleaded with her cousin and placed Percival at the forefront of King Bryan's council of advisors. The boy was promised to the first daughter of Francis and Bryan, who was born four years after him. He was raised as a knight in the company of those he would rule in twelve years, when his bride was of age; he was raised as a knight to be trained by the man he never knew to call father.

* * *

Sycill was late as all princesses should be. Wendell waited patiently brushing the coat of her horse to perfection. He didn't look up from his work of tightening its saddle when the tiny slit of light at the door widened and entreated Sycill enter.

She smiled at her escort as he unfolded his body straight up from its crouched position. She couldn't quite approximate when in the last few years he had shot up to six feet tall, but she like the added height. He was like a tower; she had heard it commented that he possessed the stature of a king especially now that he had begun to fill his tall frame.

"You're late," He attempted a stern disposition, but quickly broke it. The mere sight of the little princess made him smile.

"You must forgive me my lord," She stretched her hand out to him. He kissed her fingertips. "My wardrobe would not cooperate with my needs this morning. Surely you understand my lord?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

He kissed her fingernails and worked his way up her fingers to her knuckles. "Pray, I am not your lord Sycill."

She retrieved her hand and folded it with its partner behind her back. She looked up at him incredulously. "Have you not been to a lesson? We're not to use the first Christian name of…"

He shot her a patient look that stopped her speech. "Do you see your Mistress anywhere?"

She knew the answer but glanced around the stable for good measure. She shook her head grinning. "No _Wendell_, I don't."

* * *

Sycill rolled over in the grass, letting the tufts tickle her exposed ankles. She lay still, spreading her golden curls and velvet gown out like fans beneath her. She had always loved the canopy the forest made above her, so she fixated her attention on it. The criss-cross of branches held their green leaves like restless toddlers or young birds about to fly but cemented to their spot by fear or comfort or both. She liked the shadows and the light in between, the shapes she could trace with her eyes.

Wendell finished hitching the horses to a nearby tree and walked to the spot next to Sycill, his boots clicking with his steps. Her focus remained on the branches above her, so he sat.

The pair had been inseparable pals since Sycill could walk and remember, but it hadn't been until this year, when Sycill had lived twelve winters that they were allowed un-chaperoned.

"I discovered this spot six winters ago," Wendell spoke after a moment. Sycill listened but didn't take her eyes from the canopy. "Landon took our troope to this forest. Everyone was separated. I'm not sure who else has seen this place. I like to think it's mine, my own place, like it's something only I can see, well and you of course now."

Sycill sat up and examined Wendell's spot. The grass was thick and dark; it seemed to spread for miles only permeated by the thick trunks of the forest's trees. Not far from the horses stood a large gray rock as dignified as a tombstone. Around the boulder was circle of smaller rocks of varying shades of blue. Sycill heard a small bubbling noise coming from it.

Wendell closed his hand on Sycill's and pulled lightly. "Come. I'll show you something." They walked to the stone and kneeled on all fours in front of it. Inside the stone was a small waterfall, whose bubbles pattered against tiny rocks and formed a small pond encircled by pebbles. It was beautiful. "Look," Wendell indicated a patch of lily pads that held a nest. The creatures it contained were unlike any Sycill and anyone on our Earth had seen before. Their heads and wings were that of a sparrow, but their feathers became scales where their feet should have been. They had fish tails.

Sycill watched in amazement as a tiny blue creature hopped clumsily to the edge of the nest. It fluttered its wings madly and appeared to look down in astonishment when its body rose above the nest. Its wings were navy and the dark feathers faded as they merged into its silvery scales at its end. The tail glinted a metallic sheen in the rare patches of light of the forest.

The sparrow suddenly shifted directions as though on a floating whim or a suddenly apparent desire. The tiny bird dove and hit the water with a splash like a thrown pebble. The pair leaned over the rock perimeter surrounding the pond. They watched as the sparrow's fish tail flapped, as its wings had, and maneuvered the little fish playfully in the water.

Sycill extended her hand to touch a red sparrow in the nest. Its fiery feathers merged to a gold tail. Wendell took her hand before she could touch it and shook his head. "You don't want to get your scent on them. Sometimes you have to appreciate beauty from afar."

She pursed her lips in confusion, but seemed to understand. Not many people denied her, but Wendell had never been afraid to. He knew what was more important, like the lives of the birds.

He turned his attention from the birds to her and smiled. She looked back at him unwaveringly. Training in the sun had splotched a patch of freckles across his nose. "Sycill," He whispered, "You are so beautiful." He leaned toward her, and she felt herself lean forward to meet him. He touched his lips gently on hers.

She felt elated. As though she could fly like the little creatures. She looked up through the canopy and noticed the retreating sun. Wendell noticed too, "Come. We should head back."

**I didn't want this chapter to end, truly, but I am so awful at fluff I wasn't sure how to continue it anyway. Please subscribe and look forward to more. This and the last few chapter were simply "introducing important character" chapters. There should only be one more of the like, and then I can get into the meat of the story. Thanks for reading! **


	7. Seven Who Loved the Bird

**Once again, sorry for the long lapse between chapters. I want to finish this so badly, but it feels like it hasn't even begun.**

**Three Years Later [_Sycill is fifteen here most importantly_]**

Sycill pushed the sword above her head. She felt her lean shoulders stretch and contract with the incredible weight of it. She thrust the sword with a mighty crash into her marked target. Her grin widened with the feeling of accomplishment as another bead of sweat trickled down her back.

She swung the sword triumphantly one more time before sheathing it in the belt at her hip. She sat on a tall working bench and stroked her brow with the sleeve of the old gown. Evan would be quite proud of what she'd accomplished in his year of absence. He had secretly been training her in swordsmanship for the past three years at her Princess's request naturally. Sir Landon had praised Evan as his best knight, and Sycill couldn't ignore an opinion like that.

She filled a ladle with water and sipped at it, trying to restrain herself from overindulgence. She missed their secret lessons in the stables though; she didn't have many friends outside of the castle, and she wondered absently if Evan was her friend by any usage of the definition.

She especially missed Wendell. The two were in the same troupe of knights, which meant they'd both taken off last year to defend the kingdom in battle. It was their final test as trainees, and when they returned, the troupe will have completed their training and be hailed as knights.

Sycill listened to the horses whiney. She was sore from the long training sessions she completed on her own, but they were gratifying and an excellent escape from the castle. Her wedding was in six months' time, and the ladies-in-waiting were driving her mad with preparations. She didn't care much what she wore as she walked down the aisle, the flowers in the vases, the decorations and fine jewels; she only cared that she walked down the aisle to Wendell, and took her rightful place as queen.

She heard a faint cry coming from the castle. She recognized it as Nan's voice calling for her; she groaned, another lesson on curtsying or long session of picking out orchids. She slipped off her belt, and hid it behind the sacks in Mallow's stall, then tromped back to the castle.

* * *

Evan rolled over on his thin pallet. His back ached, and he felt a severe pounding in his head. He opened his eyes to the dim light that streamed through the windows of the barracks and saw the mass of tangled black hair lying beside him. The night before came back to him in a rush, causing his head to pound even more violently. Too much ale, he thought, too much ale.

The troupe of young knights had enjoyed one of their only free evenings in over a year. The money they had earned in battle they threw at the bars and the women who frequented them. The barracks held nearly double its usual occupants this morning, many of them the fairer sex. Evan thought of the tangled mass at his side, how her dark eyes had twinkled in the bright candles of the bar, how she clicked her tongue behind her cherry stained lips, _I'll take half off for you, cutie_.

He turned again and noticed Wendell's pallet, empty but for Wendell's own ginger head; he'd taken no whore to his bed last night. Evan thought vaguely of Sycill, his friend. He chuckled at the thought of that. What was a friend? He had comrades, brothers of the troupe, but he'd never assumed any of them as a friend. He hated to admit how much he had enjoyed their lessons, how they would end training with discussions on her weaknesses and where she needed to improve, how those staid discussions would evolve into conversations he imagined friends held. She told him of her mother; He told her of his family, why he was a knight, but sometimes they would laugh. She was only a lanky kid when he left; he wondered if she'd grown into herself yet. He thought of her loose honey-colored curls and shook his head, shaking the thought of her off with it.

He sat up, stirring the woman beside him. She looked at him startled; the cherry stain on her lips was smudged around the perfect circle she formed with her mouth. She hadn't meant to fall asleep and had missed out on half a night's profit because of it. She glanced at the young knight wordlessly before removing herself from the room swiftly. He could only turn and watch her retreating mass of black tangles.


End file.
